


Twinkle

by Lonewarg



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonewarg/pseuds/Lonewarg
Summary: A short little fluffy bit about forests, chases, star gazing and rain spoiling the fun. And a missing shoe that a hedgehog probably found later on.





	Twinkle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigblueboxat221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/gifts).



Soldiers, it is rumoured at least, are famous for any number of things. Fighting, protecting, loyalty of course. Also famous are their swearing skills. It was this ability that Doctor John Watson was putting into practice at that very moment.

“Oh well done John. You showed that tree root exactly who’s the boss. Please, go on. I’m sure that bush is looking at you in an insulting manner also. How dare they foil the great Captain Watson.” Sherlock’s amused voice was doing little to stem the rather vivid rant spilling from John’s lips as he watched the soldier kicking and stamping.

The chase should have been an easy one in theory. A suspect, ignorant of even being a suspect, bunkered down in a neat little house in the London suburbs. Unaware that his murderous spree of poisonings had attracted the attention of the world’s only consulting detective. The man was rather taken aback when he had entered his living room to find Sherlock and John calmly inspecting the makeshift lab set up on his coffee table. After that surprise, it should have been an easy tackle for John to bring the man into rather rough custody. They hadn’t counted on the eager and excited dog that came bouncing into the room to greet the new ‘friends’. The distraction was all the man needed to make a break for it. 

So, the chase had begun. To Sherlock’s disgust the man had fled out of his home and, instead of turning to the roads, pavements and rooftop like any decent, civilised man should do, he sprinted up to where the ragged edge of Epping Forest encroached onto the concrete jungle of London. Instead of dodging cabs and tourists they were scaring foxes, avoiding traitorous rabbit holes and, as John had discovered, the tangle of tree roots that threatened to ensnare city dweller’s feet.

Sherlock folded his arms as John gave the offending root a last kick, throwing a handful of scorching words at it before the doctor limped over to where his friend stood.

“Trees have no place in a chase Sherlock.” The smaller man exclaimed, his tone already rather sour and grumpy. “At least tourists are easy to push out the way if we need too.” 

Sherlock gave another amused look, a hint of concern showing as his eyes travelled downwards to John’s ankle. “You’re hurt.”

John frowned, testing his weight and wincing a little, then shrugged. “It’s fine. Just twisted.” His gaze swept over the darkening undergrowth of the forest with clear irritation. “But we might have lost the bastard in this mess.” He added in a little growl for good measure, enough to let Sherlock know he was rather irritated with the other man who still managed to look polished and poised even in this ruddy annoying forest.

Sherlock swept his eyes around too, clearly debating a moment before whipping out his phone, fingers flying across the screen, “It’s growing dark and you’re hurt. Our suspect will have to wait until morning.”

John blinked, then let loose with another of set of inappropriate words to use in polite company, “I’m -not- hurt. It’s just twisted.” To demonstrate he attempted to march across to the half-overgrown trail they had been following, suppressing a wince but unable to stop the very slight limp as his ankle grumbled under his weight. Sherlock raised a brow as his phone vanished into a pocket again.

“Come on then. Let’s head for higher ground. The highest ground in fact.” Off he strode and John could have sworn the trees and bushes themselves parted for his infuriating flatmate. Unfortunately, John had no such power over nature and stumbled along behind him, snapping and cursing at every snare and bramble, until finally they emerged on a wide, open stretch of sloping path. 

Sherlock took off up it at a loping half run, pointing, “Pole Hill. One of the highest points in London.” He didn’t wait for the hobbling John.

John rolled his eyes and started off after him, a constant stream of oaths falling from his thin lips, becoming louder as the night closed in, promising a chill to the exposed hillside. “This isn’t London. This is some sort of war zone between civilisation and the savage wilderness.”

Sherlock turned as he ascended the summit, his coat swirling around him dramatically, giving a loud, barking laugh as he surveyed the scene below him. The city stretched away into the dip of the Thames valley, lights flickering on against the night, a bowl of twinkling artificial stars that lay under the darkening sky. Yet on the hill, among the trees and grassy paths there was a stillness, nature holding its breath and enclosing its last remaining fortress in green and silent arms.

Finally, John winced, reaching Sherlock and flopping down gracelessly besides him. “This sort of place only exists so hedgehogs and foxes have somewhere to go on holiday when they get tired of raiding bins.”

Sherlock chuckled, sweeping his coat up and dropping down to sit beside his friend in one heart stoppingly beautiful motion. “I’m really not sure hedgehogs can reach bins.” 

John gave a bad tempered little grumble at that before reaching to massage his ankle just above the cuff of his shoes. “Bad day to have worn my good shoes. I should have chosen the boots.”

Sherlock’s brows creased, then leaning across he grasped the sole of the shoe, attempting to sweep it off without undoing laces, causing John to yelp and topple backwards onto the grass behind them. The shoe was tossed to one side before firm, long fingers began inspecting his sock clad ankle, lifting it high and preventing the doctor from sitting up again.

“Swollen.” A roll of the foot. “Sprained.”

“Told you so. It’s nothing.” John managed a little chuckle at last as he watched his foot being rotated and prodded, before tilting his head, eyes focusing beyond it. “Stars…”

Sherlock blinks at the word, still holding the foot in his hands, before turning to follow John’s gaze out across the basin of London, his lips twitching up and eyes softening. “They’re a little brighter here, aren’t they?”

John chuckles, relaxing now and resting back into the cooling embrace of the grass and soil below his shoulder blades. “Still washed out compared to the lights of home.” 

Sherlock smiled, that soft little smile he saved for only John, nodding and lowering his foot at last to the ground, before flipping himself to lay back alongside his friend. “The stars will never be bright with this much light pollution. They’re still perfect. They’re our stars after all.”

A small sigh and John’s hand coasted down their bodies, slipping into Sherlock’s, a slight wriggle and their heads lay touching, dark curls mingling with ash blond spikes. “Remember one of our first cases? We looked up and you called the stars beautiful.” Sherlock gave a small nod before John continued. “Never thought you’d be one to look upwards. Eyes always to the ground and the path ahead.”

They lay in silence as the sun’s last rays finally slipped away, night claiming the forest and the city below. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves and somewhere an owl leaving its roost to hunt. Finally, Sherlock broke the darkness with his rumbling, soft voice, “We should do this more often.”

“What?” John gave a small giggle at that, his hand squeezing into the larger one, “Run off into a primitive jungle so I can make a fool of myself by arguing with trees?”

An answering chuckle, followed by a brief brush of lips across John’s cheek, “If that’s what it takes to get you on your back, star-gazing…”

They lay there once more, watching the heavens above for a few breaths, before John blinked, frowning and trying to sit up as something wet and rather cold splashed on his nose. “Oh, hell no!”

Just as they were gazing at the sky it seemed the sky was watching them; thin clouds drifting in to obscure the stars and paint the moon into shadows. One of London’s frequent and unpredictable showers made its appearance as more drops splashed down onto them.

“Oh, hell no!” John wailed again, freeing his hand from Sherlock as the other man sat up also, blinking and looking around.

“There!” Sherlock was on his feet in a moment, bounding like an eager dog as his night adjusted eyes spotted movement down the hill. “Our poisoner. He’s making a break for it.” Indeed, the dark form of a human was parting from the bushes to one side of the path, unaware of the pair at the top, the rain encouraging him to seek out shelter back down among the snoozing houses.

John’s curses were muffled a little as he turned, searching desperately for his tossed aside shoe as Sherlock almost vibrated with eagerness to get going. Then the detective’s patience snapped, leaping off with a deep chuckle of glee. “Hurry!”

With that he was gone, racing down the hill in a flurry of coat tails and long limbs, closing rapidly on the still unaware dark shadow of their target. John moaned and got to his feet, his shoe lost into the undergrowth where it was thrown. His one socked foot was already feeling the damp and cold grass through it as he gave chase after the mad man he called his own. 

Who needed the stars in the sky when his own star was blazing its path in front of him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece I've ever written so please, be gentle. Just a silly little bit of fluff about stars. Written for a FB friend who needed cheering up.


End file.
